The Diamond Circle
by whereSilencebegins
Summary: Draco had disappeared right after the war and everyone thought he was dead. Now he's back, crashing a funeral to find Harry who has a few surprises himself. With another Dark Lord on the rise, they must come together to protect the ones they love. HPDM
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Oh my, it's another chaptered story! *headdesk* I really need to stop starting these long stories when I have others going but this one has been sitting in my head for months and I really just wanted to start it. And I have to say, I LOVE it! It's so cute and promising, I can't wait to write more. As I have obligations to finish the others I started first, this one will be updated intermittently until those are finished. I promise, though, that this WILL be finished! As I don't have a beta as of right now, there will probably be a few mistakes but I did do my best. I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I loved writing it! Reviews adored!**

**Warning: mentions of het sex and language (the use of the "c" word) There will be future slash sex and mentions of torture. **

**Title meaning: A circle is a symbol of something that is never ending, a harmonious cycle. Diamonds cannot be scratched or broken and are used as a symbol of purity and love.

* * *

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The Diamond Circle

Chapter 1: Freedom and a Funeral

He ducked behind another cluster of dank, clinging shadows and took a moment to catch his breath.

Pain laced through his side from where he had been grazed by a curse he knew could have been particularly nasty if it had hit him full on but he couldn't stop moving. Not now. Not when escape was so close. He could feel them, closing in on him but he refused to give in. People had called him a coward his entire life and maybe he might have been once, hiding behind his family's money and his father's name. That was a long time ago, though.

Or, at least he thought it was.

It was hard to tell how much time passed when he was stuck in a dungeon for so long, deprived of light, movement and knowledge of the outside world.

Draco breathed in several more deep, hungry breaths, feeling the summer air cleansing his lungs that had been breathing in the scent of cold, dead stone and rotting flesh ever since he had been thrown down in that pit. It hadn't been summer when he had been captured but the problem he was trying to figure out was, just how many summers _had_ there been since then? He wondered if he even wanted to know.

A hard footstep rang out through the alley and he bolted, using the shadows as much as he could in hopes that they wouldn't see him. This was their territory, not his and he was unfamiliar with the territory but he pushed ever upwards, knowing that eventually, he had to come to a door or a window that would allow him escape. The very thought of being caught and thrown back down there made his breath seize in terror and his weak legs work furiously even though they had so little strength to begin with. He couldn't stand one more moment of that cell or the darkness or the knowledge that, should the reason he was being held no longer matter anymore, he would just…cease to exist.

It was this thought more than anything else that pushed him far past his limits and finally offered the door that fell open under his touch…

And led to his freedom.

* * *

"_Clocks slay time... time is dead as long as it is being clicked off by little wheels; only when the clock stops does time come to life."_William Faulkner

* * *

Their faces were so still, so quiet, like they had never once laughed or gotten angry or shed a tear. They lay side by side, the soft glow of the Status spell shimmering around them like a dome of glass, preserving them for the moment they would be put into the ground. Death mocked them, stealing everything that they had once been and replacing it with a cool, icy mask that erode and slip away until they were nothing more than sparkling memories within the minds of the people who had known and loved them.

Greif closed a tight fist around his throat again but once again he pushed the tears away, knowing he was the last person here that had the right to be crying for the two men upon whose faces he couldn't stop gazing. After all, it had been in his name they were killed.

Yet even after the third or fourth time he told himself to move away, he couldn't. His feet remained planted upon the soft, cool grass and his eyes riveted to the still faces as a web of golden sunlight peered through the leaves of the huge oak under which they would lay, forever. It was a small comfort that at least they would be together in death. It would have been even crueler to separate them in life. But he couldn't make himself believe that and he couldn't make himself turn away and he couldn't make his heart stop aching.

Beside the two elevated caskets that had been constructed of the most beautiful glass panes and fit together with magic were two gravestones, clean and white with newness, their surfaces engraved with two names he would never, ever forget.

Connor Lyle and Percy Weasley.

Wizards, he reflected as he stood there, blinking in the shady, summer air, had a very different way of doing things than Muggles and it seemed funerals were no different. He had once been dragged with his aunt and uncle when he was very young to the funeral of a distant relative and he could still remember the stuffy funeral home in which the wake had been held, freezing cold and smelling faintly of formaldehyde and death. The oppressive quiet and pale, pasty face displayed for the mourning family had just been creepy and had given him nightmares. Then the burial itself had been a tiny little cemetery behind an old church, the ground soft and uneven, making him think about all the corpses already buried there were reaching up through the ground, trying to drag him into their cold graves with them. Thankfully, it had been nothing like this.

The plot was a wide open space, filled with warm flowers of all colors and hemmed in with large, old trees that spread their branches generously to offer the coolest shade. The air was warm and full of sunlight, bees and butterflies undisturbed by the fact that there were people intruding upon their silence in order to mourn for their dead. Here and there a grayed stone would peek out over the tall grass, memorials of others long past but the ones he stood in front of were beautiful and yet untouched by time. Both Percy's and Connor's caskets were constructed of the clearest, unflawed glass that could only be created by magic and shaped to depict small scenes that shifted and changed smoothly. So far he couldn't make out what the pictures were actually supposed to be but he didn't really feel like trying, either. It was the faces that he was most focused on. Wizards didn't need to use chemicals to keep the bodies preserved but neither did they use make up and nice clothing to fake the appearance of life. They were never going to open their eyes again and there was no use pretending.

Harry had learned a long time ago that the truth was always better than a pretty lie, even if it hurt more.

He could hear the rest of the family and friends waiting quietly behind him, their soft murmurs barely breaking over the sonorous voices of the insects and gentle breeze and he felt another flash of crippling guilt. It was his fault that they grieved, even if they did tell him they would and could never blame him for something a crazed psychopath had done. They said that and their eyes were sad but not condemning and Harry knew the Weasleys would never see him as anything else but family. Still, he wished they would blame him, even just a little. After all, when the witness reports had come back, they learned that Percy and his lover of three years had been murdered because they had been close to Harry Potter.

Another dangerous psychotic bastard one the loose, determined to do everything in their power to hurt him. Heartache swept through him, crippling and huge and he had to close his eyes, the world fading away for a moment as the dark well of grief within his soul washed over him. It was the grief that was ever present, created from all of those he had lost when he was younger and expending to include two of the greatest friends he had after Ron and Hermione. There were no tears in this looming presence that resided within him because it was too deep for that but something still stung his eyes and he rubbed at them impatiently. Just as he had reoriented the two new names within his heart where all his beloved dead resided, a small voice brought him back to reality.

"Why are uncle Bird and uncle Otter sleeping out here, Daddy? Tell them to wake up!" he opened his eyes and looked down at the small face peering up at him, his heart breaking at the plaintive voice the boy had used. Trying to hold back the sudden flood behind his eyes and blocking his throat, he swooped down and scooped the little child from the midst of the bobbing head of the white and yellow flowers, the solid weight in his arms familiar and comfortable. Huge eyes the color of emeralds stared back at him, innocent and clear. Everyone remarked on how similar their gazes were but he knew his son didn't hold the haunted shadows that plagued his own.

"I'm so sorry, Harry," Hermione's short, neat curls were like a crown around her head as she dashed up to him, her brown eyes apologetic, "He just got away from me when I was looking the other way," Harry managed a small, warm smile but hugged his son closer to himself when she reached out to take the boy back.

"It's fine, Mione," he answered quietly, "I'll keep him with me," she nodded and turned to rejoin the rest of the family, her footsteps soft swishes through the grass. Harry looked at the boy who had turned in his arms and was surveying the two men in the glass coffins, his eyes wide and solemn. He felt a little bad because he had been terrified at the prospect of explaining to his four and a half year old son that his two favorite uncles that had a major hand in raising him would ever play or laugh with him again. How did one explain that while trying to preserve such innocence? Still, he could hardly let the boy continue thinking that Percy and Connor would wake up as if from slumber. He smoothed down the dark, flyaway curls and pressed a kiss to the round, unmarked forehead, "They aren't sleeping, love," he said in a soft voice, watching the small brows furrow in a frown, "They…passed on and they won't be coming back here anymore," the boy's bright eyes found his own and a small tooth snagged the plump bottom lip. The sight made his broken heart lift just a little because it was hard to ignore his son's charms.

"Never?" his voice chimed and Harry tightened his hold on the boy, hating the way the knowledge made the clear voice and round face shadow.

"I'm sorry, Sirius," his voice sounded choked but it did no good trying to clear his throat so he buried his nose in the fragrant abundance of curls at the top of his son's head, blinking away tears, "Someday, a long time from now, maybe we will see them again," Sirius was silent but the only sign of his distress was how he dropped his head to Harry's collarbone and pressed his face into the dark haired man's neck, his small hands clutching at the front of his father's t-shirt.

"I want Uncle Bird and Uncle Otter to wake up," the four year old's voice was a small thread and Harry buried a sob in his son's hair. Sirius had started calling everyone he knew by animal names when he was just learning about them and the names had somehow stuck. Some didn't really make sense but for some, like Hermione whom the boy called Auntie Owl, they were scary accurate. Hearing them now, though, only made this so much harder.

"So do I, little man," _so much…

* * *

_

There had been a time when he had never really thought very highly of Percy. He was Harry's least favorite Weasley because he had always come across as a stuck up prick that thought he knew better than his family and looked down at everyone who didn't follow the Ministry. Something about the war, though, seemed to have jarred something loose within him and after he had somehow pushed Fred out of the path of a nasty curse, he had decided to reconcile with his family. Of course they had forgiven him instantly, with a lot of tears from Mrs. Weasley and back pounding from the twins. George was so grateful, in fact, they had later let Percy in on their business as an investor.

It was not until some months after the final battle, though, that Harry had a reason to start liking Percy personally.

The war had taken a toll on everyone but there had been some days when he had been sure he would fail and let down the entire wizarding community. The Horcrux hunt had been stressful and terrifying and was usually what mostly occupied his nightmares, even now. So no one could blame him when Ginny had found him one day, her hair bright and eyes dark and he let her lead him by the hand to the back room of the decrepit house he had been hiding out in. He didn't know how she found him and he couldn't remember her answer when he asked. All that mattered was that he was tired and stressed to the point of snapping and he was being given an outlet. It hadn't even mattered that he was no longer in love with her and that he actually found most of her brothers more attractive than he found her. None of that mattered; Ginny had been willing and the sex was better than he would have expected.

And when she had left in the morning, a soft smile on her face, he couldn't even feel guilty for leading her along because the release of tension just for that one night had been exactly what he needed. Only, there had been unexpected consequences of that night he could never call a mistake no matter how much it changed his life.

The war had ended in one final crash that resulted in his temporary death and enough fuel for nightmares that would wake him up screaming for the rest of his life. The death of the man who had once been known as Tom Riddle and who died at the end of a wand that was black and didn't even belong to Harry had left him drained and impossibly tired, like he hadn't slept in the entire year since he had left Hogwarts. It was only made worse when what felt like the entirety of the Wizarding world descended upon him and demanded to know every little detail of Voldemort's death. All he wanted was to crash on a bed in a locked and warded bedroom and sleep for a month but there had been interview after party after official Ministry function until he felt like he was a ghost of himself, propelled by other people's wishes. His friends tried to ward off the worst of it but they were powerless against the fever that had gripped Britain.

Then, three weeks after that final battle, Ginny found him again.

He had been lying in the grass in the Burrow's back yard, relishing the feel of the cool green blades brushing against his skin and the small window of peace he was given when a familiar voice said his name behind him. He remembers smiling, because even though he no longer loved Ginny like that, he had missed her anyway and she hadn't been around since he had seen her in the middle of the war. Only, when he had levered himself to his feet and faced her, he had found himself staring at a very different person than the girl that had left him after that night. Her brown eyes were hard and cold and her lips turned down in a bitter frown. In her arms she held a small bundle that moved once or twice as she watched.

"Hey, Gin," he had been hopeful that it was not him that she was upset with and that perhaps he could comfort her or cheer her up. But she had only glared at him, a deep hatred burning in her gaze that baffled him before walking calmly over to him and practically tossing the bundle she had been holding into his arms. He had caught it by reflex, confused and the girl had stepped away quickly, as if getting ready to make a run for it. When he looked down at the thing in his arms, alarmed when it squirmed slightly, his heart nearly stopped.

It was a baby, dark hair already dusting the top of its head and its eyes a foggy green.

"I thought I was in love with you," Ginny had started, her voice as hard as her eyes and her face lined as if she was ten years older than her seventeen years, "So I went to you because I didn't want you to forget about me and because I thought I was doing something to help," she had laughed then and Harry had looked down at the child he held, cradling it carefully in his arms as if it was made from glass when it uttered a soft coo.

"I don't understand," he had breathed, unable to stop looking into the huge eyes because the baby was so _small_ and delicate and _real_ it seemed impossible but he couldn't figure out why Ginny was going on like this after shoving the child at him. She snorted when she saw the confused look on his face, her arms crossed angrily over her chest.

"Of course you would be smitten with the little monster. You _ruined_ me, Harry! That _thing _in your arms I have been carrying around for _nine months_ and I HATE IT! Do you know what the worst part of it was? It wasn't even that I got pregnant at sixteen because I didn't know the proper protection spells or that I was _alone _when I had him. The worst part was that I suffered through that _knowing _that you never loved me, even when you where _fucking me_ and you never will! Do you know how it felt, to discover that I was pregnant with your child only to overhear my brother talking about how the father of the baby would have enjoyed himself better if I HAD A COCK! Well, fuck you Harry! Take the baby because every time I lay eyes on him, I feel _sick_," and with that, she had stormed away, her long hair blazing in the sun just before she Disapperated off the property.

The shock had rendered him completely speechless and he was only pulled from his trance when the baby started to utter soft noises of distress, his tiny nose wrinkled and his eyes squeeze shut. The knowledge that this was _his_ baby, his _son_, had swept over him like a tide of warmth and disbelief, leaving his knees weak so that he sank into the grass while still holding the little boy closely to his chest. _His_ boy. And he was beautiful, the most beautiful baby he had ever seen, whose skin had lost the redness that came from being newly born and was fair and smooth and whose hair held the promise of being dark and his eyes green. This was _his son_ and everything that Ginny had said to him didn't matter, the hurt swept away in a tide of love.

"I guess," his voice had been rough when he tried speaking so he had to try again, "I guess she didn't name you," the baby had stopped fussing when Harry started talking, looking up at him with eyes that couldn't quiet focus on his face and Harry had found himself smiling through tears, "So I guess that means I have to," he had thought for a minute, knowing he had always wanted to name one of his children after his father. But in that moment he had remembered his godfather, whom he had known if shortly and decided that Sirius was a good name, "I'll call you Sirius. Sirius James Potter," and the little boy had giggled softly when a warm tear had spattered on his little round cheek.

The Weasleys had found him like that, kneeling in the garden and staring quietly at the baby in his arms that had fallen into a peaceful doze. Fred, George, Ron and Charlie had burst through the back door carrying their brooms, quickly followed by Mrs. Weasley levitating a tray of lemonade behind her and they had all stopped short when they caught sight of the dark hair teen, his hair messier than usual and his eyes bright with confusion, joy and overwhelmed tears.

"You okay, mate?" Ron had asked and Harry didn't know how to answer. Thankfully, Sirius had chosen that moment to wake up and start bawling loudly, not stopping when Harry started to rock him, panicking. He had never been around a baby before and the sight of the distressed little face, red and wet with tears sent him into a tailspin. The brothers all reacted with varying degrees of fascinated shock, crowding around the bewildered young father, Fred even going as far to poke at the sobbing bundle until Mrs. Weasley had shoved them away with a few choice words and knelt down beside Harry, her expression gentle.

"It's okay, Harry. Let me see," she had held out her arms and after a moment of reluctance, he had passed Sirius on, watching the baby closely because he was even more afraid now that he was no longer holding him, "He's probably just hungry, love. Why don't we go see if we can find him something to eat, okay?" he was grateful for her reassuring smile and the fact that she wasn't asking questions just yet, content to follow her back into the house. After all, she had seven children of her own and Harry had told his strange jealousy that how well the baby fit in her arms was only because of experience. Only when he was seated in a comfortable chair in the living room and Sirius was once again back in his arms, sucking contently on a warmed bottle of milk did the questions start.

"Where the heck did it come from?" George had been leaning over the arm of the chair, staring down at the baby eating quietly, freckled face sharp with fascination and Harry looked around at the circle of red headed Weasleys that had pulled up chairs around him, all wearing similar expressions. The twins and Ron sat on his right, all of them leaning close, while Charlie sat on his left with his mother and Mr. Weasley, home from work that day, in the middle of them. Only the adults wore softer expressions but he could see they were still interested in his answers.

"He," he had said quietly, looking down at Sirius, "It's a he," and he knew that didn't answer the question but it hadn't mattered. He only had eyes for his son. Someone made an impatient noise that was quickly hushed by Molly and he smiled when Sirius wrinkled his nose again before resuming his noisy meal.

"Yeah, but, whose is it?" that was Ron, his voice strident. Harry had looked up at him and then realized that none of the Weasleys would be happy to hear it was Ginny who he had gotten pregnant. Blush heating his cheeks, he had ducked his head, hoping his hair would hide his embarrassment.

"He's…" he had to swallow, suddenly terrified because what if they got angry and kicked him out? But then he'd reminded himself not to be stupid and worked up his courage enough to answer, "He's mine," the words sent a thrill through him, making him forget for a moment that he could very well have a mob of angry red heads on his hands in a moment but Sirius's beautiful face was enough to set all the worries away for a few wonderful moments. Then he realized it had gotten awfully quite and he had lifted his head to see every single person in the room staring at him in shock.

"He's _yours!"_ Ron had practically shouted it, making the baby jump and start crying and it took Harry a couple minutes of panicked terror and Mrs. Weasley's gentle instructions to get the boy calm again. Once Sirius was again sucking noisily on the bottle, Harry had lifted his head, cheeks still burning. It wasn't in shame, though. How could he be ashamed of the little person in his arms? Ron's outburst had earned him a quelling look from his father and a round of back of the head slaps from his brothers.

"Y-yeah. I named him Sirius James," and he couldn't help but grin because it sounded wonderful rolling of his tongue. They had all looked at him closely for a moment before Molly sniffed loudly, eyes full and smile tremulous.

"Oh, Harry," she had dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, and the twins rolled their eyes at each other before looking back at Sirius, clearly taken with the baby, "Of course we will all help you take care of him. I insist that you stay here for a while and we can get everything straightened out. Don't worry about anything," Harry had found himself relieved at that, nearly forgetting there was a question that no one was asking but needed to be answered before anything else could happen.

"How do you know he's yours?" Charlie's eyes were sharp but not unkind, studying him and the child with interest, "How did he end up here?" and just like that Harry had been thrown into despair. Surely they would hate him if they knew but he couldn't bring himself to lie. So he told them the truth, about how Ginny had shown up on the lawn and dumped the baby on him like it was something disgusting and then just took off again.

"I swear I didn't know!" he had finished by saying, his eyes wide and Sirius beginning to fuss in his arms, discontent with the loud voice he had used, "I'm really sorry but she never said anything to me," and then he ducked his head, concentrating on how the baby didn't seem to want anything more to eat but not knowing what to do about it. For a moment he was sure they would all start yelling at him, furious that they had knocked up their daughter, their sister and then just left her to have the child alone when Molly leaned in and pulled the bottle out of his hands.

"Here," her voice and eyes were so kind he had nearly wept as she draped a cloth over his shoulder and rearranged Sirius so that he was upright and pressed against his shoulder the cloth was on, "You hold him like this when he's done eating and pat him gently on the back otherwise they can colic," Harry had done as he was told, determinedly not looking at the other men in the room though he could feel their eyes on him. Finally Ron shifted, drawing the dark haired boy's attention.

"I thought you were gay, mate," he said slowly and Harry would have thought he was just being dense if he didn't know him well enough. But he could see the glitter in his blue eyes that meant he was furious and was trying not to show it. The question earned him some more slaps from the twins but they were half hearted for they were watching the blush scrawling over Harry's cheeks and were looking thoughtful. Molly was clearly trying to ignore the topic, her eyes watchful and on him and Sirius but Charlie's lips were pressed thin and Arthur had a crestfallen expression in his face.

"I am, Ron," he answered in a small voice, face hot and eyes miserable, patting his son as he had been told while bracing himself for the barrage that he was sure would come. When it did, however, he was shocked to find that their anger was not directed at him.

"That absolute, fucking _cunt_," Ron's voice was a sharp hiss, his fists balled tightly on his thighs and his eyes blazing with such fury it stole Harry's breath. He had seen his friend mad before but not like this, not in defense of someone else. The twins were nodding darkly and Charlie looked like he might snarl like one of his dragons any minute, eyebrows drawn down so sharply they shaded his dark blue eyes and made them look like a brewing storm. Even Mrs. Weasley didn't react very much to Ron's strong language, which could only mean she was upset enough that she didn't hear it, "How _dare she_. First she has it without even telling anyone and then comes here and just…just…_dumps him_ on Harry! It's her son too! Her _son_!" his voice was progressively getting louder and he was standing by then, pacing furiously. Any moment Harry was sure he would start tearing at his hair but the twins stood then, their faces dark.

"Calm down, little brother," George put a hand on Ron's shoulder, making him pause in his pacing, "You aren't the only one whose angry at her," Fred joined them and the three looked like they would swallow the room whole, their hair blazing like fire and their skin pale under their freckles. Just then there was a little burp in Harry's ear and Molly beamed at him, the bight expression not quite reaching her eyes.

"That's it, dear. He should be just fine, now. Why don't we find you both a place where you can both rest," Charlie had stood then, looking down at Harry with an inscrutable look on his face before nodding to him and herding his brothers into the kitchen. Mrs. Weasley rearranged Sirius in his arms again, his weight comfortable already and then went to find them a place they could sleep. The hazy green eyes were sleepy now, the small, thin lids sliding down to hide the promising color and Harry watching him, still in a state of disbelief as he tried to ignore the shouting coming from the next room. Only Arthur remained, his face haggard and sad.

"I'm truly sorry that this happened, son. I would not have expected this of Ginny," he'd said quietly and the dark haired boy had looked down at the bundle fast sleep in his arms, warm and safe and _his_. He could remember smiling softly, clutching the little boy to his chest, love curling lazily through his bones in a way he had never felt before.

"I'm not," and when he looked up, Mr. Weasley was positively beaming.

Harry had fallen asleep in that chair to the sounds of his friends' angry voices and his son wrapped in his arms, awoken much later to find Percy sitting across from him, reading calmly. The house was dark and quiet by then, though he could hear Molly moving around in the kitchen, and Percy looked up when he heard Harry stir, his eyes warmer than the dark haired boy had ever seen them.

"I heard what my sister did," the older man had started without preamble, putting his finger to hold his place in the book was he spoke, "and I would like to help you take care of Sirius," and that was where their friendship started.

Percy had actually proven to be an invaluable help in raising Sirius. Because Harry couldn't stay at the Burrow for the sake of his own conscience, the Weasleys hardly left him alone when he moved back into Grimmuald Place. He might have stayed, he thought sometimes, but he had walked into a room to find Molly in tears, sobbing as she asked the air why Ginny had chosen not to come to her family for help when she first found out she was pregnant and the guilt only ripped him apart. Ron and Hermione both came to stay with him but Hermione was in school then to become a lawyer and Ron had been accepted in the Auror training program so they weren't around much. Molly, of course, came by every day, bringing with her more baby clothes, blankets and toys until Harry didn't even know what to do with them all. But it had been Percy that had moved in and stayed with him and Sirius, watching the baby when Harry couldn't and keeping him company through the long nights.

He had found, after spending so much time with the man that Percy was actually quite funny in a dry, scathing sort of way that reminded Harry a little bit of Snape, whom he thought of now with regret and grief and he was extremely intelligent, his brain like a sponge so that he could dig it up again at a moment's notice. It was Percy that had been there when Sirius had spoken his first word at an early age and then again when the boy took his first step and then later helped keeping the normally rambunctious Sirius in line. If it hadn't been for him, Harry was sure he would have been utterly lost.

Conner didn't come into the picture until Sirius was two. He owned a little known bookstore in the less traveled alleys of Diagon Alley that Percy often frequented because the books there were rare and valuable. The tall man with the sandy blond hair had pursued the Weasley _mercilessly_ until Percy really had no choice but to give in, letting Conner take him out for dinner a month after the man started his campaign. After that they were inseparable, doing everything together. Their personalities were completely opposite but together, they melded so perfectly it was almost like they were meant to be together. Harry liked Conner even more the first time he came to the house and fell in love with Sirius.

Just like that, the small boy that had grown into his wide green eyes and dark, tousled curls gained another guardian and Harry could never remember being so happy in his entire life. Even being at Hogwarts didn't compare. He had good friends who remained loyal despite the unfortunate circumstances and the family he had always wanted, even if it was a little different than he had imagined it. Sirius grew quickly, turning into an adorable little boy that could melt even the hardest of heart and whose charm held even Kingsley, now the Minister of Magic, captive.

And then with a single curse cast out of hatred, two of those people in whom Harry's happiness lie were gone.

* * *

The sunlight had turned golden and buttery as the day progressed, throwing the wide, flowery meadow into a comfortable warmth and he was grateful for it. It would have been terrible if it rained today, even if he wished that Percy and Connor could still look around and see the beauty of the place they were to be put to rest. White chairs were scattered in front of the large oak tree, occupied by older, less capable witches and wizards that were either family or friends, talking quietly to each other with comforting smiles and sad eyes. Several huge tents that were mostly open on the sides but gave those attending the funeral another place of the sun floated above the ground, their anchors not even touching the grass. The bodies had already been put into the ground and covered over by dark, fresh dirt and Harry had watched, Sirius in his arms and his friends standing around him, muffled sobs filtering through the crowd. It hadn't helped, either, when his son got distressed at the sight of the dirt covering the bodies of his friends now closed within their glass caskets, squirming and tears shimmering in his bright eyes.

"Daddy! Daddy, what are they doing! How am I going to see them again if they cover them up?" his shrill voice had sent Molly into hysterics and several of the other guests including Hermione reaching for tissues and Harry felt his own tears spill over, trailing hot fire down his cheeks.

"Shh, Sirius. It's okay, it's fine," the little boy looked up at him, registering his father's grief with tears of his own, arms clutching Harry's neck tightly, "I promise that this is okay. You'll see them again, right? Just not now, okay?" Sirius had merely nodded and rested his head once again in the crook of Harry's neck. It was an action that the young boy did when he was upset and wanted comfort and the dark haired man rubbed his back, murmuring soft words into his ear as the funeral ritual was finally completed and willing this day to be over.

Now he sat in the shade of one of the tents, watching as his four year old son capered around through the high flowers, the long stalks nearly reaching his chin while single mindedly trying to pick as many wildflowers as he could fit into his hands. Hermione sat beside him, a glass of chilled pumpkin juice in her hands, her face quiet as she too watched the green eyed boy. The thing he had always hated about funerals is how normal everyone was able to act even though they had just buried loved ones. It was a condition of being human, he understood that but he wished it was not the case. Molly was sitting in the next tent over, surrounded by a circle of sympathetic women who listened to her watery tales of Percy as a child and the twins were standing off to the side, talking adamantly with Kingsley who looked tall and impressive even amidst the tall red heads. Andromeda looked solemn in her dark dress robes where she stood keeping Mr. Weasley quiet company while her grandson, Teddy, watched Sirius from her side, his hair a bright yellow. It was always that color when he was looking at Harry's son, though no one had been able to figure out why. They were of an age and were actually already great friends but his hair was never that bright shade any other time. Hermione made a soft _tsk_ing sound beside him, drawing his gaze and he found her watching the new gravesite with lips pursed in disapproval.

"Can't they do that somewhere else?" she said, though her voice was resigned and Harry looked over to find Ron and Cormac, his Auror partner, bickering softly in the shade of the huge oak. Well, Ron was bickering. Cormac was probably drawling something in that deep voice of his if the smirk on his face was any indication. Harry bit his lip, feeling his first flash of amusement in several days. He didn't know why but the moment Ron had been paired with the brunette, he had claimed to hate him. At first Harry hadn't understood but after watching them interacting a few times, it clicked. Cormac was clearly a flirt. Well, he was with Ron, anyway and he had been trying for the two years they had been partners to get into the redhead's pants. He was blatant about it too, though never vulgar. Everyone actually really liked him because he was a good person who treated everyone else with respect but he was smitten with Ron and he let the man know it. Harry knew what the problem was, too, why Ron was so determined to pretend he hated his partner.

The man was bloody _gorgeous_, something that had been confirmed even by a very straight George one night and it was clear Ron knew it. Harry laughed softly now as he watched them, taking in the way his friend's blue eyes wouldn't look directly at the brunette and how he had his arms crossed over his chest as if using them for protection as the shorter man leaned towards him, saying something that didn't carry towards them. Whatever it was, it had Ron blushing hotly and glaring furiously at Cormac.

"Ron just needs to accept that he thinks the man is hot and get over this fear he has of being attracted to men," Hermione smiled back, her cropped hair curling around her forehead before she burst into fierce giggles that made his heart feel just a little bit lighter.

"Yeah, before Cormac gets impatient and makes him see just how gorgeous he is," her brown eyes sparkled in mirth. She and Ron had tried going out right after the war because it seemed like all their dancing around each other in school would lead to more romantic feelings but such was not to be. They lasted all of about a month before the fighting got so bad, Harry had to step in between them and inform them that they were breaking up and never allowed to date again for the sake of his own sanity. He was pretty sure they had been both been relieved and got along much better as just friends.

"I do hope this gorgeous bloke you speak of is either myself or gay, darling," the smooth tenor behind them made them both turn and Hermione grinned when a slender man with wavy brown hair tied back in a silk ribbon walked up to them, a glass of wine clutched in one elegant hand. Theodore Nott always made Harry feel scruffy and sloppy, his elegance wrapped around him like a cloak but he could remember when the man was not always like that. He had changed a lot since they had been at Hogwarts though he could still be a prissy bastard sometimes and Harry was always reminded of another elegant Slytherin that he tried not to think about when he spoke with him.

Why Hermione had agreed to go out with Nott was still a mystery to him but she must have seen something there because only a year later they were married. The man actually worshipped the ground she walked on, treating her so well that everyone with misgivings of his dubious background was forced to either get over them or keep quiet about them. They had met while she was in school to get her degree for being a lawyer and became good friends. Usually Harry liked Nott but ever since the death count had come in from the war, he had always been a little removed when dealing with anyone that came from the Slytherin house. It was hard not to remember…

"Oh, he's definitely gay and crushing horribly on Ron. You're good, Nott," Harry answered lightly with a smile in Nott's direction, making the man snort before he leaned down and pressed a kiss to his wife's cheek. It was a warm gesture that seemed private so he was grateful when Sirius pelted up to him, followed closely by Teddy who had slipped away from his grandmother, a huge bunch of flowers held out in front of him and a bright smile on his face.

"Look, Daddy!" he cried, stopping right before he collided with Harry's knees and holding out the colorful bouquet, "I picked them for Uncle Bird! Do you think he will like them?" Teddy was holding his own, smaller bundle in front of his face, shy in front of all the grownups but his eyes were hopeful and a clear, shining blue. Hermione's eyes were shining as she looked on, her husband's hands curled comfortingly on her shoulders and Harry felt the breath catch momentarily in his throat before he leaned down with a smile, tucking a stray curl behind a small ear. Molly had remarked once how odd it was for a boy, even as young as Sirius didn't mind being cuddled and touched. Usually at this age they started inserting their independence but he still melted against his father whenever Harry picked him up.

"They are wonderful, love. I think your Uncles will love them," he plucked one of the bright daisies from the bunch and tucked it behind Sirius's ear, making the boy giggle. He repeated the action with Teddy, who always watched on longingly when Harry interacted with his son before letting the young boys take each of his hands and drag him back towards the tree and the two white stones with the names of people he loved engraved on them. The bundles of flowers were scattered over the grave with a seriousness that made the grief catch in the back of his throat again, Ron and Cormac now watching on quietly as if they hadn't just been flirting/fighting a moment ago. Now words were needed and Sirius stared at the colorful riot covering the dark dirt before clinging to Harry's leg, burying his face in the denim.

The commotion started just as he was lifting the dark haired boy into his arms, Teddy's hair now a riot of dark curls around his head as he clung to Harry's other leg, eyes wide as he looked towards the tent. A loud, discontented murmur spread over the meadow, dark and angry, originated from a spot beyond the tents were Kingsley and several heads of red heads were gathered. He couldn't make it out at first, only registering that everyone was on their feet and were staring, many with wide eyes and hands pressed disbelievingly to their mouths. And then he heard the voice, thin and weak, crying out over the rumble of anger.

"…let me talk to him! I need to talk to Harry!" it was bitten off with a sharp cry, as if the person had been hit and Harry found himself halfway across the felid, flowers brushing his knees, strides long as his heart hammered in his chest. Surely that voice didn't belong to who he thought it did because that person was _dead_.

"You're not talking to anyone, you—" Fred's voice was a vicious snarl as Harry reached the circle, still unable to see who Kingsley and what looked like another Auror he didn't know by name was holding between them.

"Enough," he snapped, aware that Sirius was still clinging to his neck and Teddy was peeking out around his knee, eyes wide and fearful. He supposed he should let someone else take them for the time being but that voice called out his name again, the sound of it pathetic and raspy and he used the full weight of his glaze when the twins and Bill, all of whom had their wands out and pointing at this new person, looked as if they would protest, "Let me through," reluctantly they moved to the side but their wands never wavered and their eyes were hard.

Then Harry couldn't breathe because the voice he had heard _was_ the same one from his memory.

"Malfoy?" at first he had thought it was Lucius caught there between the Minister and another bulky Auror, long, silvery blond hair sweeping around the man's shoulder and nearly reaching his waist. But then he realized that was impossible because if it was the Elder Malfoy, he would be dead already. After all, the reports from Percy and Connor's murder said that it had been Lucius who had killed them. No, the person he was staring at was supposed to have died almost five years ago and was staring through the lank curtain of his hair with bright, helpless eyes. Grey eyes, the same ones that sometimes haunted Harry's nightmares when he dreamed of the people he had been unable to save.

The blond looked like crap, too. His hair was dirty and tangled, looking like it hadn't been washed in months and he was surprised he could still tell the man was blond. His frame was so thin, it was a wonder he could stand at all, even with the support under his arms. Dark circles shadowed his pale eyes and the rest of his skin looked waxy and just as dirty as his hair. What clothes he had left were an unidentifiable gray and they might have been nice once but were now riddled with tears and holes. The worst part were the scars that peaked out on the pale skin, long and wicked looking. Blood that was already half-dried decorated Malfoy's left side, staining his shirt and his pants which meant he had lost quite a bit of it not too long ago. There was a soft cry from behind him that sounded like Nott and another voice, raised and angry that could only belong to Blaise who had also been attending the funeral with his wife and tiny daughter but Harry couldn't take his eyes off of the blond in front of him. It looked like it would almost have been a mercy if Malfoy had died.

"Malfoy, what are you doing here?" Harry asked in a gentle voice and the words seemed to do something to the man because he was suddenly free of the arms holding him and had thrown himself at Harry. There was a collective shout of alarm and wands raised but no one could cast any spells without the risk of hitting Harry and the children at the same time. It didn't matter, though, because Malfoy wasn't attacking anyway. He hit Harry with surprising force, making him rock on his feet even though he had braced himself, moving Sirius so that he wasn't caught between them when the blond wrapped his arms around the dark haired man's waist and clung to him, shivering.

"Please, don't let them find me again, Harry," his voice was terrified and when the Weasleys and Kingsley stepped forward to drag the other man away, he held up his hand. Pity, relief and concern poured over him and he rested his free arm around the man's frighteningly thin waist, letting him lean against him and feeling the trembling rattling in his bones. What had happened to Malfoy that he was like this, terrified and looking like he had just escaped from a concentration camp.

"It's alright. He's not going to hurt anyone," he said to the nervous circle of dangerous looking redheads, wincing when he heard a soft, mumbled thanks pressed over and over again into his shirt. It was a little awkward and more than a little uncomfortable because the blond didn't smell pleasant by any stretch of the imagination but then Sirius leaned forward, peering at the man currently hugging his father. At first Harry thought the boy was going to get angry or jealous like he sometimes did of other people monopolizing Harry's attention but then he broke out into a huge smile that made the sunlight seem dim in comparison. He reached out with a small hand and patted Malfoy on one sunken cheek, making the man turn his head to look at the boy.

"You are Daddy's Dragon," and the confident proclamation left the entire crowd speechless.

* * *

Draco had nearly been blind with fear when more hands grabbed him, harsh words hissed in his direction but he was so close, he struggled through his terror and his weakness, knowing the one he was looking for was close by.

Once, he would have hated himself for running to Potter for help. Once, when his pride was unbending and fierce, when he was determined to make every think he hated the dark haired boy as much as Potter hated him. But that was a long time past and when he thought about those blazing green eyes, shining with strength and determination and all he knew was that he would be _safe_. If nothing else, Potter had an unfailing sense of fair play and wouldn't attack him if he saw that Draco was weak and injured.

Of course, he also hadn't meant to _throw_ himself at the man. That wasn't part of the plan. But thoughts of the dark haired man had been what kept him company during the long, unbroken darkness of his captivity and when he saw him in person, tall and strong and older than he remembered, he couldn't help himself. It was too much and he hadn't felt safe in so long that he somehow managed to break free of the hands gripping at his arms and jumped at the green eyed man, holding him tightly.

It was so _real_ and Harry was so solid, he felt like nothing bad could happen ever again, even if there were half a dozen unfriendly wands aimed at his back. He didn't even hear half the words were spoken around him, just whispering what he thought were words of gratitude against the thin material of Potter's shirt and taking comfort in the fact that he wasn't being pushed away and in the strong, musky scent swirling around him.

And then something touched his cheek, small and warm, making him turn his head.

A small boy was seated in the crook of Potter's arm, a flower caught in his hair, and Draco felt his eyes widen at the miniature version of the man staring back at him with wide, familiar green eyes. The dark curls weren't quite as flyaway, perhaps and they held a hint of red in them he knew Potter's didn't but other than that, he could have been Potter when he was young. Then the boy smiled, huge and dazzling, eyes so green they made his breath catch and he pronounced in a loud voice,

"You are Daddy's Dragon," and the entire meadow went entirely still. Draco stared at the boy for a moment and then smiled.

_Tell me something I don't know_.

* * *

The day had been confusing and filled with raw things that he didn't understand. Daddy was more quite than usual and he didn't know why Uncle Bird and Uncle Bear wouldn't stand up and smile at him, telling him everything was okay. He loved his dad first, of course, but he wanted his Uncles too. He didn't like that they were being taken away from him. Sadness clung to the adults like wispy clouds and he could see it, hovering over his shoulder.

He could always see things, ever since he was young, colors and shapes that surrounded people and he had thought that everyone could see them but he could remember saying something to Grandma Molly and she had just said that he shouldn't worry about them. But he couldn't just _ignore_ them because usually the colors and shapes were so beautiful he couldn't help but want to look at them. The ones that curled and flickered around his father were strong and brave, all different shades of gold and silver, shining like the sun but there was green there, too, so much like his eyes and Sirius often thought that his daddy had the prettiest colors he had ever seen.

But then he saw the man with the long hair and frightened face and he knew instantly that this person belonged to them.

Around him swirled the most beautiful shades of every color green he had ever seen, rich and jeweled and so strong, they rivaled his father's, edged with the same gold and silver that dominated his daddy's colors. And when the man pressed his face into the familiar chest, their colors had melded together, they could have been one person.

The gray eye shone like a many faceted jewel when it turned to him and he was reminded of the pictures of the dragons that Uncle Charlie brought home sometimes, fierce and proud and strong. He might not look it from the outside right now but Sirius could always tell what was really in a person's heart.

This man was a dragon and he was theirs.

* * *

Hermione watched from the sidelines, eyes wide as she clutched her husband's arm. Theo had nearly lost it when he recognized the man now clinging to Harry like the dark haired man was a lifeline and he now stood stiffly next to her, eyes wide and shining. She had known he and Malfoy had been friends at Hogwarts and that the brunette had mourned his supposed death, to see it firsthand gave her a little jolt. She had never liked the blond in school but then again, she hadn't really liked Theo either and she loved the man deeply. It was still unnerving, however, to see a wraith-like Draco Malfoy hugging Harry close like he was the last person on earth.

And then Sirius's voice ringing across the field made her gasp. Normally she would have brushed it off as a child speaking but Sirius had an uncanny ability to read people and predict things.

"But…but why did he pick Harry?" she finally managed, looking up at her husband who looked like he was caught in between shock and joy. Theo was just drawing himself out of his trance when a dark arm wrapped around his chest and Blaise was peering over the brunette's shoulder, eyes just as bright as his friend's. An arm curled around Hermione's waist then and she turned to see Luna standing beside her, a soft smile on her face and a bundle of baby girl in her arms.

"The question you should ask is, why Harry now?" Blaise's drawl made Theo laugh a little wildly but Hermione just looked at the two men in confusion. She didn't usually like Blaise; he was arrogant and snide but she had to admit he had a good heart. Anyone who married Luna had to, along with a considerable dollop of patience. He adored her, though, showering her and their seven month old daughter with expensive gifts and more love than Hermione had ever through capable.

"What do you mean by that?" she asked, just refraining from stomping her foot because even after five years, she still hated not knowing or understanding something. Blaise's eyes glinted when he glanced at her but it was Theo who answered, leaving her blank with disbelief.

"Are you kidding? Draco has been in love with Potter since we were kids,"

_**...To be continued

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O.o Lots of odd pairings, right? Wait until you see who Charlie is with *evil chuckle* Anyway, please tell me what you guys think!


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hey all! Hurray for a new chapter! I hope this chapter makes up for how long it actually took me to write it. It would appear I'm not so great at writing mysteries so this should be interesting -_- It was really funny, too, when I uploaded this because I was going through putting all the page breaks in and realized that in a few places I spelled Charlie with a 'y' instead of and 'i'. I was like...um, wtf? Haha, yeah, I'm sure you were all fascinated by that little aside. -facepalms- Anyway, thanks to those of you who have reviewed, I really appreciate them. I know I don't typically answer them but so you all know, I adore them and the more I get, the more I am inspired to write -winks- Look at me, shamelessly groveling for reviews! teehee. Please take into consideration that this is not beta'd and I'm crap at it so for any mistakes, I do apologize! Thanks and enjoy!**

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Chapter 2: Uncertain Balance… 

The great basement kitchen was gloomy and inhospitable, despite the large vase of flowers sitting in the middle of the long table, the red, orange and yellow flowers a bright flash of color in the dimness. Their scent, however, was drowned out by the smell of cooking and he stared at the big blossoms in an attempt to take his mind off the way his stomach cramped with hunger. The sound of rattling pots and pans came from behind him and he sternly told himself that he would not be embarrassed by being caught drooling; even if the simple soup and warm bread Mrs. Weasley was making smelled so good. He thought it probably smelled better than the food he used to get at the Manor when he was young.

When the memories of some of the dinners he'd had sitting in the Manor's dining room assaulted him, he shifted his gaze so that he would not have to remember how he had been fed nothing more than thin slops and moldy bread for the past…he didn't know how long it had been but long enough. Instead he looked to his right were the small boy with the green eyes and dark hair had been watching him since they had first sat down in the kitchen.

It had been quite the shock to be told that the boy was Potter's son. Of course, he looked almost like a carbon copy of his father but it was one thing to notice such a thing and another to be told so that there was no doubt. It had taken a little bit to swallow unexpected bile at the pronouncement because he thought the only way the dark haired man would have a child was if he had gotten married but the more he observed, he realized that there seemed to be no mother in the picture. Draco wasn't sure why that surprised him but it did. It also calmed him because he didn't think he could bear it if Potter was married. Not with the way his emotions seemed to be sliding over the surface of his being, ready to break free any moment. After being confined for so long, he hadn't needed the icy mask that he used to have perfected that concealed what he was feeling and now he couldn't seem to get it back.

Loud voices filtered in through the closed door then as if the speakers had forgotten he was there and he flinched, hunching his shoulders.

It seemed that there were very few people that wanted to have Draco there at Grimmuald place and had been arguing over his presence in the house since they had gotten back. But as Potter had kept stating over and over to a pair of irate twins and the older Weasley brothers, there was nowhere else for the blond to go. His appearance at the funeral, though he hadn't known what it was until he had gotten there, had caused a stir of animosity that he couldn't understand at first. No, the Malfoy and the Weasley families had not gotten along for generations but he did not think that he merited the business end of several wands intent to kill. When he had learned _why, _however, he really couldn't blame them for such a reaction.

Apparently, the funeral they had been attending was for one of the Weasley brothers and his lover who had perished by a curse from the wand of Draco's own father. When they had told him that he could hardly believe it but he did not know Lucius's condition since he had not seen the man since before the war had ended and he did not know what his father was like now. The thought, though, of the tall, stately man he had always known as his father doing such a thing made his blood run cold and at the same time he wanted to see both of his parents with such an aching intensity that he thought he might faint from it. He knew, though, that he could not go back to the Manor.

"What the hell should we do with him then?" the oldest Weasley brother's voice had been hard when he had asked the question right after Potter had told the crowd that had gathered around them in the meadow that he would not be handing Draco over to the ministry for questioning. His voice had been soft but held such command that the blond knew no one would dare refute him. He had managed to stop shaking by then, soaking in the warmth of another human body holding his own close and watched the boy in Potter's arms smiling at him while listening to the argument flying over his head. The dark haired man had held him gently, like he was about to break and did not once tense or seem like he was about to push Draco away, something which he was absurdly grateful for. The feeling of being in the taller man's arms was _safe_, pushing away the blonde's fear.

"I would ask him what _he_ would like to do but I think it would be best if we took him to St. Mungo's," the name of the hospital had such terror flaring through him that for a moment he thought he had gone blind. Then he had realized he was gasping and holding onto the other man tighter than ever and somehow managed to find his voice.

"No, please! They'll find me there! Please, please don't take me there…" his voice had cracked and broken and his chest felt tight, like he couldn't draw in all the air he needed. In hindsight, he realized he must have been on the urge of a panic attack but Potter had tightened his arm around the blonde's waist and lowered his mouth so that he could murmur words only he could hear.

"Sh, it's okay. I won't take you there, I promise. You're safe now, I won't let anyone take you again," and they had eased him enough that he didn't feel like throwing up or passing out quite so much. He had sagged against the other man, feeling his solidness and trying to draw strength from it. Draco hadn't thought about how pathetic he must had looked then, emaciated and filthy while clinging to his one-time rival as if he was afraid he would drown should the dark haired man let him go. But Potter did not let him go, standing against the sharp gazes of opposition he had been receiving like the true hero he was. Saint Potter. The blond used to use that title mockingly but now he was grateful for it.

It was actually Mrs. Weasley who had pushed through the ring of angry wizards, her chin set and eyes compassionate. One of the twins had muttered something about throwing the blond on the side of a street somewhere to forget about him, making Potter stiffen and his son make a small sound before reached out and curling a small arm around the back of Draco's neck like that would offer protection only to have the Weasley matriarch slap her son upside the head. Though her eyes were red rimmed from crying and her hands clutching at a soiled handkerchief, she had faced her angry sons and husband and spoken with absolute clarity that they couldn't argue with.

"That's enough! Can't you see the poor boy is starving? I don't care who his father is or what he has done but we will not turn him away," apparently that was enough to cow the Weasley clan enough to resort them to resentful glowering but at least they had put their wands away and had let Potter Disapperate away, still holding Draco and his son both close to him. He didn't know why exactly the other man had accepted him so easily or had taken it upon himself to become the blonde's protector but he was more than grateful for it. Even when he was lead into a gloomy house that looked like it had seen better days and seemed vaguely familiar, the overwhelming feeling of being _safe_ had not gone away and he drank it in hungrily, telling himself that if he was here then maybe he would not be found by the people who had held him captive.

He had been given a bath where he had scrubbed at the grime on his skin four times and still hadn't felt completely clean and then given clothing to wear that hung from his bony frame awkwardly. The sleeves and cuffs of the trousers had to be rolled so he wouldn't trip or get caught on them but he didn't care about that. They were clean and warm and smelled like Potter. If he just lifted his wrist to his nose and breathed deeply, he was filled with thoughts of warmth and security and he thought that just maybe he might be okay here. And when the dark haired man looked at him, there was nothing but warm kindness in his gaze.

A large bowl of fragrant soup and a plate of fresh bread were placed in front of him then, jarring him from his thoughts and his mouth watered shamelessly. Mrs. Weasley's face was lined deeply with emotions he thought was grief but it was warm and kind when she managed a smile at him.

"Here you go, dear. Eat slowly so that you don't sick it back up again," he barely heard her as he snatched the spoon and took the first sip, the warm broth sliding down his throat and making him let slip a sigh of delight. The older woman just chuckled fondly and patted his back before turning away to clean up, leaving him to his meal. It was heavenly, the best he had ever tasted he was sure and he tried to gulp it slowly like he had been instructed rather than lifting the whole thing to his lips and simply tipping it down his throat. It was a light broth with homey seasonings and the bread was warm and fluffy, encased in thick, flaky crust. With a cup of warmed pumpkin juice to wash it all down, he completely forgot his table manners. It wasn't until Sirius began to giggle, his wide emerald eyes sparkling did Draco pause in snarfing down his first real meal in what felt like forever.

"You eat just like Uncle Dog does!" he said, his voice high and sweet and the blond simply blinked at him. _Uncle Dog?_ he wondered as he broke off another piece of bread and ate it more slowly. Mrs. Weasley laughed softly and cast the last of her cleaning spells before she sat beside Sirius, ruffling his wild curls.

"Uncle Dog is Ron," she explained as the boy climbed into her lap and allowed her to cuddle him, though his wide green eyes never left Draco, as if he was constantly reassuring himself the blond was still there. He still didn't understand why the boy was so drawn to him but it was nice to have someone so unconditionally on his side, even if he was only less than three feet tall, "He's called most people by animal names, ever since he learned how to talk," the red haired woman explained, eyes never leaving the boy sitting calmly in her lap. Draco was rather surprised at how kindly she was treating him but he supposed he was more like a project for her, someone to feed and mother because it would help take her mind off the son she had just buried. The thought made a lump rise in the back of his throat, though it had more to do with his own father's possible involvement but before he could get any further into his brooding, there was a thump and then the door to the kitchen was thrown open, making the three of them at the table jump in surprise.

Potter filled the doorway, dark and imposing, making the blonde's breath catch at his impossible beauty. He looked like he had once when he had battled Death Eaters, lines of his face fierce and set. Then Sirius had called out in a happy voice, "Daddy!" and squirmed from Mrs. Weasly's arms so that he could run over the dark haired wizard. The young boy was immediately swept into the man's arms and Potter's face softened with warm affection.

In that moment Draco knew he was lost. There had always been something about this man, even when they were very young, that he had admired and longed for. But now, watching his burning strength melt into warm radiance while he held his son, the blond ached with a hunger that had nothing to do with food.

He didn't know where he fit in here but he wanted to, with a ferocity that frightened him.

* * *

Harry had never enjoyed confrontations and facing off against a very angry Bill Weasley, a concerned Charlie and Kingsley and stubborn twins was something he never wanted to do again. No matter what their reasons or arguments might be, though, all he had to do was think about the pathetic figure of Draco Malfoy clinging to him and shaking and he knew he could not turn the man away. He had loved Percy and Connor like brothers and he was blind with grief and rage when he thought about how they had been killed but he could not bring himself to hate Lusius's son. Though he had no idea what had happened to the blond, he could tell it was bad and he was reluctant to let Malfoy go, sure that he would get snatched back by whoever had held him captive and they would never see him again.

But that meant that he had to face off with half the Weasley family, protecting someone who he had thought was dead.

Surprisingly enough it was Ron who stood at his shoulder and offered his support for keeping Malfoy at Grimmuald place for the time being. It surprised him more than anyone else would have, even Hermione because out of them all, his best friend had always had a particularly strong dislike for Malfoy and his family. Harry had always thought it had a lot to do with the prestige and the money that came with the blonde's name but the war had mellowed the tall red head to the point where not much could rile him up except his partner. In the past couple years the dark haired man was grateful for his friend's level head and sometimes unexpected pragmatism. Still, it was a relief to have the tall Auror on his side because he didn't want to have to face half of his surrogate family alone.

They had left the funeral almost immediately after he managed to make everyone calm down enough to be sure they wouldn't hex the blond that had remained clinging to him the entire time. He knew they wouldn't because the risk of hitting Sirius was too high but he wondered if maybe they wouldn't have if the boy had not been with him. Harry was grateful to get out of there anyway, the grief heavy in the air and weighing down on him. Between his concern for Malfoy, the novelty of actually seeing the man still _alive_ and the inevitable conflict with some of the Weasley family over him, the distractions were almost welcome. He didn't want to think about how much he would miss Percy and his lover's company and he didn't know how much longer he could keep the grief at bay should he continue to stay. Besides, he needed to get the blond to a place where he could be taken care of and where people weren't going to stare.

Convincing the other man to stop clinging to him had proved to be a bit of a challenge, further hindered by Sirius who seemed to have taken to the blond and kept trying to latch onto Malfoy at the most inopportune times. He didn't understand the boy's fascination, wondering if maybe he was trying to replace his lost uncles with the first opportunity that he saw and Harry didn't really have the time to try. So he was forced to keep asking his son to please leave their new guest alone so that he could get an unhindered look at his new surroundings while fending off the blond who followed him around like a puppy; though Harry was sure he had never seen any puppy with eyes as clear and as gray as the blonde's.

Finally he managed to lead the man up to the third floor bathroom, the floor that he himself used for himself and Sirius, showing him how to use the Muggle appliances he had installed while his small son watched them avidly from the doorway. He frowned a little when the blond tried to shuffle a little closer while the dark haired wizard was turning the hot water on in the shower so it could heat up and ignored the dirty, musty smell that nearly choked him. Pity that had been gnawing quietly at his mind quietly in the background had nearly overwhelmed him then and he had turned to leave so that the blond might have some privacy when a bony hand closed around his wrist, halting his retreat. The gray eyes were enormous and questioning in the skeletal face and he swallowed hard, wanting to cry every time he saw what kind of condition Malfoy was in. Once so proud and beautiful, he was nothing more than timid skin and bones, his face nearly unrecognizable and his pride laying in broken, tattered shards at his feet. The man's loss had always grated on him but now that he was back, was _alive_, he didn't know how he was supposed to react.

"Don't worry, I'll be right down the hall if you need anything. I know the clothes will be too big but hopefully we can change that. Are you...are you sure you sure you don't want to go someplace where they can take better care of you?" he only asked the question because he felt completely unequipped to nurse a clearly traumatized and malnourished person back to health not because he wanted Malfoy to leave but he realized his mistake as soon as he had spoken. The big, shadowed eyes grew impossibly wide and a second later, he had his arms full of trembling, dirty blond. Surprised, he took a few moments to sooth the other man before pulling back to look into the gray eyes.

"Don't make me go anywhere else, _please_," and that last word was so ragged, so desperate, like the blond would lose his sanity if his fears were to come true that Harry placed gentle hands on his frail shoulders and tried to draw himself up.

"I won't, Mal—Draco, I promise. Just go clean up and I'll be right down the hall," he wasn't very good at reassuring adults. Kids were one thing, especially after having his son but he had never had to balance that fine line between gentle compassion and coddling. He didn't want the man to feel like he was being pitied and patronized but at the same time, he wanted to wipe that lost, terrified expression from his too-thin face. Malfoy seemed to have been reassured by, out of everything, the use of his first name and he had let Harry's wrist go to step back, though he never took his eyes from the dark haired man as he gave the blond what he hoped was an encouraging smile and shut the door. Right before he did, though, he couldn't help but notice how small and lonely the other man looked, standing in the middle of his bathroom wearing nothing but the tattered remains of what were probably once fine robes and his matted hair falling about his shoulders in a messy tangle.

Harry sighed after the door clicked shut and he leaned against the wall beside the bathroom for a moment with his eyes closed. It had been a difficult couple of days and life had just thrown a complication at him that he couldn't even begin to figure out what to do with. There was an ache starting behind his eyes and he desperately wished for Percy's clam and Connor's cheerfulness. Surely they would have helped him, would have made this whole thing a little bit easier just by being there but they were gone and no amount of wishing would bring them back. Just as a lump was about to form in his throat, there was a tug on his pants and he glanced down to see his son staring solemnly up at him, small face intent.

"Daddy, are you going to let Dragon stay?" his voice was high and clear and for a moment Harry allowed it to flow over him like a healing balm. No matter what happened, as long as he had his Sirius by his side, he knew everything would be okay. He dredged up a smile and crouched beside the boy, listening to the sound of the shower door closing and the steady patter of water against the marble floor stuttered as it was disturbed while threading his fingers through the familiar, dark curls so much like his own.

"Why do you call him a Dragon, Sirius?" he asked, curious and the boy blinked at him as if his question was strange. He was ready for anything, though, used to his son's strange way of looking at the world and knowing better than to dismiss what he said as a child's delusions or a hyper-active imagination.

"Because he is like the pictures of the dragons that Uncle Charlie showed us," he explained, patient like he couldn't understand why Harry didn't already know this and then the boy drew himself up, lifting his chin and looking so proud and eerily cool that for a moment he looked like an entirely different person. It also captured what Malfoy had been five years ago that the dark haired wizard felt a chill. He ran his fingers through the boy's hair, absently enjoying its silky softness but he tried to keep a frown from his face. Sirius was as sensitive to people's moods as he was to whatever it was he saw that told him their true selves. The boy called them "the colors" and they had never once lied. Now Harry wondered just what Sirius had seen when he looked at Malfoy.

"Did the colors tell you this?" he asked softly, shifting so he was sitting on the floor in front of the young boy instead of crouching uncomfortably. The wide green gaze that was identical to his own studied him steadily for long moments and he waited, knowing Sirius would talk when he was ready. Because he had always seen more than ordinary people, it made him more thoughtful and thus prone to lapses of silence that many people found disturbing. Harry loved it though; he loved everything about his son. When Sirius finally opened his mouth to speak, his eyes were filled with that same emotion that the dark haired man couldn't identify.

"He has your colors, Daddy," he said quietly and seriously and Harry blinked at the strange statement, "They are whole, now," he didn't know what the boy meant by that, which was also not a very unusual occurrence but he knew whatever Sirius was trying to tell him, it was abnormal. He had stroked the boy's hair a few more times and studied his son, taking in the familiar, beloved features.

"Do you mean he had less than everyone else?" he tried, feeling particularly stupid, especially when the five year old simply fixed him with a patient stare and shook his dark head.

"No, I mean…" the boy compressed his lips and looked away, obviously distressed at not being able to explain what he meant to his father but just as Harry was about to reassure the boy that he didn't have to worry so much about it, the bright green gaze came back to his own and the boy tipped his head to the side, "You have your colors and so does Dragon but they are…brighter…better when you are together. They are whole," and the little boy shrugged and wrinkled his nose, probably feeling like he had not explained it better this time around. But Harry understood. At least, he thought he did and it shocked him as well as made his mouth feel oddly dry. He pressed a kiss to the round forehead but his eyes were staring off at the other side of the hall. Sirius didn't talk about his "colors" much unless he noticed something unusual and the dark haired man could not remember an instance when his son spoke about something like this.

"Do you..." Harry ground to a halt and looked down into the boy's small, earnest face and wanted to be able to not think about what it could mean that he and Malfoy might have a bond. Filled with a fascinated kind of dread, he licked his lips and tried again, "Have you seen that before? Like around Auntie Owl and her husband?" of course he must, he reasoned, because they were married but Sirius shook his dark head and then burst out into a bright grin that made Harry's chest flood with warmth no matter how many times he saw it.

"No, Daddy, just this time. I told you Dragon belonged to us!" the last words were an excited cry and Sirius giggled before taking off down the hallway, shouting something like he wanted to be the one to pick their Dragon's bedroom, leaving Harry to sit on the floor in stunned silence. He knew never to doubt his son when it came to this kind of thing but how could such a thing happen with Malfoy of all people? No, they hadn't been enemies when they parted ways during the war and he had mourned when he had heard the blonde's name on the list of suspected casualties, even though his body had never been found but this? He didn't know what it could mean and the thought frightened him. Yet even so, he felt a sudden and rather violent surge of protection for the blond using his shower and he knew that he would not turn the man away unless Malfoy decided to leave on his own terms.

By the time the other man stepped out of the bathroom, followed with a billow of warm, white steam, Mrs. Weasley had Flooed in and had taken over Harry's kitchen. She seemed willing to throw herself into the task of fattening the blond up, though considering his condition and that they didn't know how long he had been like that, he know it would probably take a long time before the man was once more what he used to be.

He had been in the room at the end of the hall next to his own and across from Sirius's, throwing open the curtains and changing the sheets on the bed when the blond stepped through the doorway, looking almost like a different person. The clothes Harry had given him hung precariously from his narrow frame as he was skeletal in his thinness but his hair had been scrubbed and brushed out neatly so that it spilled down his back and glimmered like white silk in the weak sunlight coming through the window. His skin was once again its pale peach, though it looked a bit yellow around the edges that spoke of liver problems but at least the man wasn't caked with grime anymore. Harry had made a mental note to himself to call on the private Healer he used for Sirius later so the man could look at Malfoy as he smiled at the blond, trying not to laugh at how the man looked in the too-big clothes.

"Well, we'll have to find you clothes that fit better but for now I guess they'll do. Here," he moved unthinkingly to roll up the sleeves of the jumper that was too small on him but much too big on Malfoy and then bent to do the same with the trousers, muttering a mild sticking charm so that they would not unfold when the blond moved around. When he looked up again, he found the gray gaze full and searching, reminding him sharply of the conversation he'd had with his son only twenty minutes before. He had been insanely glad then that his son had opted to help out his grandmother in the kitchen so he wouldn't say something to make both adults uncomfortable. Then Malfoy reached out and touched his cheek with unsteady fingers and it burned through him.

"Thank you," the man had whispered and Harry had been unable to say a word in response. He was grateful that though Malfoy didn't leave the room while he finished making up the bed while hoping the man hadn't noticed the color warming his cheeks, he didn't touch Harry again, content to just keep the taller man in sight. The single, fleeting memory of the touch lingered when he showed the man down to the kitchen, telling him small, insignificant things about the house in which he would be staying in for the foreseeable future. Malfoy seemed to drink his words in, remaining eerily quiet the entire time. It unnerved him because he didn't know what the man was thinking but he didn't comment as he pushed into the kitchen to find Sirius setting the table one utensil at a time and Mrs. Weasley at the stove.

"Come in, dears!" her eyes shone in welcome and Harry had felt a surge of gratitude. She could have chosen to resent the person whose father had allegedly murdered one of her sons but she was going out of her way to be kind. Sirius beamed at them and Harry ruffled his hair as he moved to the bench, indicating for Malfoy to sit in the place set, "I've just started a pot of soup that should be just fine for young Mr. Malfoy's stomach," she patted his shoulder as he sat and Harry could see the confusion on the man's face at being shown such kindness, "until you can handle richer food, dear," and she moved back to the stove, swishing her wand so that a long wooden spoon would stir the broth bubbling on the stove. He looked at the blond then and realized he was probably a little overwhelmed by people who were willing to help him, his head ducked so that his hair slid forward like a curtain to cover his face and his shoulders hunched.

"Hey," he sat next to the man and pressed his palm against the material of the sweater Malfoy was wearing and earned the shining glance, wide and bright with uncertainty, "Just eat as much as you can and then I'll show you up to the room you will be using so you can rest. I'm sure you need it," he looked like he needed it, with the hard lines bracketing his lips and the heavy circles under his eyes and he looked ridiculously grateful at the suggestion. Harry had just offered him another smile and Sirius had clambered up next to the blond, face shining and content when there was the sound of the front door opening, his wards tingling along his skin, letting him know his guests were friends. It was the loud rumble of angry voices, however, that had him sighing and standing from his seat. Malfoy made a small noise, scooting closer to him and both Sirius and Molly stared at the door as if it would burst open any moment and admit an angry horde of Hippogriffs. He had known this was coming but he had hoped they would at least wait until tomorrow. Alas, that was not to be. Harry put his hand on the blonde's shoulder, wincing at how fragile it felt under his fingers and reached over to ruffle his son's hair.

"Make sure he eats, okay little man?" when Sirius nodded seriously, he turned his eyes to Malfoy's wide, frightened ones and squeezed the bony shoulder as hard as he dared, "I'll be right down the hall. I just have to take care of this, okay?" Malfoy had nodded and if the movement was a bit jerky, he didn't comment on it. Resolve had built up within him as he made his way to the door and out of the kitchen to the sitting room where it looked like half the funeral party had gathered. They wouldn't take the blond away and they wouldn't talk him into letting him go, either. Harry had taken in the crowd, taken a deep breath and stepped into the room.

Now he stood by the fireplace, his arms crossed tightly over his chest as he stared down Bill and the twins, with Zambini and Nott making their own voices heard in the din, faces just as angry, though for different reasons. Charlie and Kingsley stood together with the twins, a united front that would probably weather any storm sent their way, something Harry had always been envious of. Mr. Weasley stood behind his sons but Harry had yet to figure out where he stood in all this. Ron stood at his side and Cormac lounged on one of the sofas, his booted feet on the armrest while Hermione watched the display with pursed lips from an armchair in neutral ground to the right of the fireplace. Voices talked over one another, making it difficult to pick out individual strands but he already knew what everyone's complains were already, having heard them three times already.

"…should come back with us! I've known him longer and…" that was Blaise, his golden eyes fierce and Harry commended his devotion to his friend even if he wouldn't give him what he wanted.

"He should be trussed up and hexed until…"

"…his a bloody pulp and then…" the twins were finishing each other's sentences even in the heat of an argument, though they seemed less angry than everyone else at the moment and he had to wonder if they were just participating because it looked like somthing to do. He still couldn't tell what the two men's intentions were half the time. It was Bill that was the angriest and he couldn't really blame the man. He'd sent Fleur home with the baby because he had probably known how this would go, his scars standing out in vivid relief on his face.

"Have you forgotten what that sniveling little twat did and you're just going to let him _stay_ here because you feel _sorry for him_ or something along those lines…" it was this argument that made him feel the most guilty because of _course_ he remembered what Malfoy had done that caused Bill to get mauled by a werewolf in Harry's sixth year but he also understood the other side to that story so he would not cave under its weight. Another pressure came from Kingsley, his deep voice rumbling through all the rest and he hated the man's argument the most.

"…really take him back to the Ministry and find out is he knows anything about…" and then Harry just had enough. He dropped his hands to his sides, filled his lungs with air and _bellowed_.

"_ENOUGH_!" there was instant silence, though it did nothing to quell the glares or looks of hard concern but he didn't care about that. Everyone's emotions were on overload because of the tragedy they had all just suffered but he would be damned if he let them continue to talk at him like that. It was his house, his decision and if they didn't like it, they could leave and didn't need to come back. He tried not to think about how much that would hurt not seeing any one of them again and merely held each of their eyes for a moment to make sure they understood. Then he lifted his chin and addressed the entire lot of them, "I know all of your concerns and I have taken them into consideration. However, as of right now, Malfoy will be staying with me here while he recuperates and we try and figure out what happened to him," his voice brooked no argument but Nott was quick to jump into the space his words left behind, eyes adamant.

"Wouldn't it be better if he stayed with someone he was familiar with, like friends?" the man demanded and Harry merely looked at him, eyebrows drawn.

"It might be but he picked me and has expressly asked not to be sent anywhere else. I will respect his wishes, since he seems to feel safe enough here. You are certainly welcome to visit if you like," the other man looked at him carefully then sighed. Blaise gave a curt nod and he was thankful that at least they had backed down. Bill, however, and Kingsley still had stubborn looks on their faces that spoke of more arguments forming on their tongues.

"Harry, you _can't possibly_ let that monster stay here," Bill growled, sounding more like a wolf than a man and the dark haired wizard listened to him only because out of everyone, Bill had the most right to protest, "After what he did at Hogwarts, how could you trust him?" the room had fallen silent and everyone watched Harry, wondering what his answer would be. He didn't shrug casually like he might have for anyone else because he knew that this was not to be addressed as such, not with Bill. Instead he looked at the other man and steeled himself, hoping that he wasn't going to lose his friendship over this.

"Mal—Draco is not a monster," he returned quietly, using the blonde's first name because it made him seem more human that way, "I already know why he did that and though I'm not saying it excuses his actions at that time, I can say that he is sorry for what he has done and has more than paid for his crimes. I do trust him, at least enough to allow him to stay here. He has no wand and he looks as if he has been living on nothing but bread and water for the entire five years he has been missing. Would you deny anyone else sanctuary?" there was still that stubborn tilt to Bill's jaw, though he had taken a step back and allowed his father to put a hand on his shoulder. Harry ducked his head then took another deep breath, "If it would make all of you feel better, Draco doesn't wear a Dark Mark. He never did," there was a shuffle around the room but still the argument would not be laid to rest. The twins stepped into their older brother's previous place, identical in their dark expressions, though Harry thought they were more thoughtful than angry.

"How do you know so much about him, Harry?" George asked and he blinked for a minute. Thankfully he did not have to come up for an answer to the unexpected question because Ron, previously a silent, strong figure beside him spoke up.

"Malfoy came to us for asylum after Dumbledore was killed but he disappeared before we could get him to safety. He had to tell us those things or we would hardly have trusted him," the twins seemed to realize that if Ron was sticking up for Harry's decision than the effort to change the dark haired man's mind was a lost cause. They shrugged and stepped a few paces back, content to watch what would happen next. As he thought, Kingsley took his turn. Harry couldn't resent him for it, not really. He was the head of the Auror department and he was merely thinking like one.

"Harry, that boy might know something about—" Harry turned to the tall man, eyes blazing and hard and crossed his arms again. Usually he liked Kingsley, especially when he was with Charlie but sometimes he thought with the Ministry's brain rather than his own.

"No," he said, voice flat and watched the way the dark eyebrows drew down. The older man opened his mouth to try again but barely got any farther.

"Harry, you must know that this—"

"No," this time Charlie laid a hand on his lover's arm and drew the dark skinned man's attention long enough to shake his head at Kingsley. At least the red head knew when it was pointless to argue with him.

"Now, Harry, maybe you should hear the man out," Arthur had been quiet all this time but now he seemed to be siding with the majority of his sons and Harry huffed through his nose, turning away. He wanted to get away from there, away from the arguments he could still festering like old wounds in the room and back to the quiet kitchen where his son and a thin blond man were waiting. He met Ron's sharp blue eyes and he friend nodded shortly with a small, warm smile before stepping forward, looking every inch the formidable Auror, unmovable and strong.

"Any more complaints will be fielded by Ron," he said before slipping quickly from the room. There was the sound of protests but he didn't care. He had fought and reasoned and riled most of his life and just when he thought he had escaped it, finally, here he was, back fighting another battle against people he loved. His heart ached as he allowed himself to miss Percy but he barely had time to assemble his grief before a warm, small hand slipped around his elbow. Hermione stood between Blaise and her husband, face warm and approving.

"Don't worry, Harry, they'll come around," and he felt himself almost sagging in relief at her implied agreement with his decision. They shared a swift hug and then Nott and Zambini promised to stop by tomorrow to talk to Malfoy, as he would probably be overwhelmed if they were to speak to him now, before they were all out the door. Only then he was permitted to take a slow, steadying breath, push the dark thoughts of the two best friends he had just lost and step back into the kitchen.

He knew as soon as Draco lifted his eyes from the blow of soup set in front of him to meet Harry's own that he had made the right decision. Warmth and gratitude and a tumult of other emotion swirled in the clear, gray depths and if he could do that for the blond after whatever hell he had been through in the past five years, it was the least he could do. That mixed with the enthusiastic greeting from his son who had launched himself across the kitchen and into Harry's arms warmed him and made him forget about his grief for a little while. With the words spoken only a few minutes before sliding away like mud from his skin in a cool rainstorm, he made his way to the table so that he might sit beside the blond and Molly while cuddling Sirius and he thought that just maybe everything would be alright.

* * *

Now that he was clean and fed, he could feel the fatigue pulling on his limbs and making his mind fuzzy as he sat beside Potter at the table. It was all he could do not to let his eyes slide shut and let his head rest on the hard surface. He had taken care of the wound from the curse that had grazed him while he was in the bathroom, the process taking longer than usual since he had to shuffle through the cabinets and try to figure out the Muggle way to clean himself up. Thankfully, the goop from the tube that had promised to keep away pain and infection actually seemed to be working, though he had been doubtful at first. But with the pain in his side eased and the cramping of his stomach occupied with the excellent soup prepared by Mrs. Weasley, he had nothing but the present company to keep away his exhaustion.

Fleeing from his prison as weak and as desperate as he had been had used up all of the little bit of strength he did have and now he was ready to collapse. Yet for some reason he didn't want to close his eyes and potentially miss time with Potter. He didn't understand the impulse, not really, since he knew the man wouldn't go anywhere but he was half afraid that he would open his eyes again and find this had all been a dream. If he could have stayed sitting at that kitchen table forever with Harry and his son while Mrs. Weasley asked worriedly about the confrontation with her family that had just taken place, he would have and he didn't have it in him anymore to think that was strange. It felt like peace, sitting there and listening to them talk while the little boy sitting on Potter's lap watched him with a shining contentment. That he didn't understand either but he tried to smile at the child, which earned him such a bright, beaming grin that it stole his breath. It seemed Sirius smiled with the same shining abandon that his father did.

Potter noticed when he stopped eating, pushing his bowl away that he had not managed to finish as it seemed his stomach had shrunk alarmingly and the bright green gaze was gently concerned when it settled on him.

"I'm sorry about all that, by the way," Potter started, hugging the slender form of his son close in his lap and the boy leaned his head back against his father's shoulder while reaching out and curling a hand into one of Draco's oversized sleeves. The gesture took his by surprise, as did the slight coloring it prompted in the dark haired man's cheeks but no one seemed inclined to explain it to him so he didn't question it. Besides, it was rather nice to have someone trust him like that so unquestioningly, "Um, so you don't need to worry. No one will do anything while you're in my house," there was a burning confidence in the man's voice that Draco knew he could trust. Mrs. Weasley huffed on his other side, drawing his gaze and he saw in the set of her face the trouble anyone would be should they prove Potter's words false.

"Of course they won't. I'll make them sorry they were born if they even _think_ about it," and he had to smile a little at how such a short, plump woman could seem so intimidating. She returned the smile with one of her own before completely shocking him when she leaned over to press a kiss to his forehead and fussing with his hair for a moment as if he was another one of her sons, "Don't worry, dear. Everything will work out, you'll see," and then she got up in search of the rest of her family whom he could still hear down the hall, leaving him alone with Potter and his son. The green eyes were sparkling when they met his own and he had to look away for fear of getting lost in them.

"She's a good person to have as an ally," he confided, leaning forward as if they were plotting a conspiracy and making Draco feel like he was included in something, "I would hate to get on her bad side; she can be quite scary at times," and his smile was as bright as his eyes. Sirius seemed to have had enough of being held and squirmed from Potter's lap to the bench, where he scooted over to the blond and wrapped his arms around the man's neck, his small warmth oddly comforting. Startled, he looked over the boy's shoulder at the dark haired wizard and found his gaze contemplative as he observed his son hugging a man he had only just met. Then the boy pulled back and grabbed a fistful of his long hair, running it through his small fingers.

"Pretty hair," he said with a giggle, "Can I play with it?" and because Draco had no idea what to say, he merely nodded, astonishment and confusion roiling within him like an anxious caldron of raw emotion. Potter seemed somewhat embarrassed and about to call the boy back but he shook his head and then turned to Sirius, whose eyes were wide as they observed the way the long, pale strands slid over his wrists.

"Yes, if you'd like," he had actually wanted to cut it all off, the length and heavy fall of it reminding him painfully of the time he had spent locked away and unable to keep it trimmed but there had been no scissors in the bathroom when he looked. The small tugs on the roots, however, actually were rather soothing and he didn't mind as the boy began to part it and with a look of deep concentration started to braid it. Potter's eyes were unreadable when he looked at the man again and the air felt heavy around them, though he couldn't think why. It occurred to him that showing back up in the other wizard's life had probably been a rather nasty shock, on top of the manner and timing of his appearance which he realized probably didn't look very good, but for the first time he felt safe and as long as Potter was around, he knew nothing terrible could happen to him.

"Is it…is it true that my…that my father killed your friends?" he finally managed to ask and nearly flinched when Potter's face darkened at the reminder. The green eyes flickered to the boy who had not faltered in his braiding of Draco's hair before moving back to the blond. There were lines of grief and loss in the man's face but the blond didn't murmur the never mind that lingered on the back of his lips because he had to know.

"That is what the witnesses claimed; that a man of Lucius's description cornered them in a shop in Diagon Alley and shouted something about…well, the claims vary but everyone says they saw the killing curse he used," the man's voice had choked up in the middle but his eyes remained steady and hard, making Draco swallow nervously. And then he realized there was something wrong with that. Frowning, he watched out of the corner of his eye as Sirius finished off the braid and tied it off with a piece of twine that was sitting on the nearby counter and tried to figure out why that sounded strange.

"Are they sure it was my father?" he finally asked and couldn't meet the blazing color of the other man's eyes, instead pushing his used spoon across the table with fingers that didn't look like his own they were so thin. Sirius, seemingly obvious to their conversation slid back onto the bench and this time leaned against the blond, his head a solid weight against his arm. He didn't comment but smiled when the boy lifted his eyes to look into his face.

"All the accounts are consistent according to Ron and no one had really heard much from him or Mrs…your mother since the end of the war. Why? Do you know something?" there was a sharp edge to Potter's voice that made him glance up and he swallowed hard at the steel that stared back at him. He shook his head, feeling the braid thump against his back and the steady warmth of the boy pressed against him.

"No, not about that. I do know my father, though, or I did, and I know he would not murder someone in the middle of the day in public where everyone could see him. It's not…" he wrinkled his nose and hunted for the right word, "…_elegant_ to do things in such a…crass manner. At least, he wouldn't have when I knew him," he ignored the painful reminder that he had probably lost several years with his parents, whom had thought he was dead along with everyone else. Potter seemed to sag with his words and he ran a hand through his wild curls, making them stand on end. He still looked nearly the same as he once had, if a little taller and broader then he'd been when Draco had known him and the gesture was so familiar it was almost like no time had passed at all.

"Yeah, I thought as much too. It just doesn't seem like something Lucius would do. It just doesn't…make any _sense!_" and he scrubbed his hands over his face in such a dejected way that Draco found himself leaning over and catching one of the dark haired man's hands in his own, drawing all the weight and attention of the bright green gaze.

"Do you…have you heard anything else about my parents?" he asked and his voice was a throaty rasp of desperation. He had missed them every single day he was trapped in those rotting dungeons and the thought of being able to see them again made his heart pound. He couldn't imagine what it must have been like for them thinking their only son was dead and he wanted to go to them and assure them he was fine, if a little malnourished. However, the very thought of leaving Harry's house nearly choked him with panic and he had to shut it down before it drowned him. The other man shifted, looking at where their hands touched with a frown but he didn't make Draco let go.

"As soon as you were announced dead they disappeared from the wizarding society and no one had heard from them in years. I could see if I can contact them, though that might be difficult with the murder investigation now on your father," hope surged through him along with heavy, breathless longing and he dropped his hand to his lap, unable to look at the other man anymore. He wanted to see his parents more than anything else but he didn't see how that was possible, with his terror of leaving the house should he be captured again and the danger of his father being wrapped up in a murder case. Draco realized then just how much he had lost, more than pride and freedom and the confidence it took to step into the real world, and he despaired. Even when small arms wrapped around his waist in a reassuring hug did he keep his gaze averted as bitterness tried to swallow his heart.

Then there were warm, strong hands on his chin, making him look up into familiar green eyes that had never looked so gentle or warm and he nearly sobbed aloud.

"I'll see what I can do to contact them tomorrow, alright? In the mean time you look exhausted. I have a room set up for you…" and all he could do was nod and allow the two Potters to guide him up the steps, back to the third floor and to the room where he had met Harry after his shower. The sun was setting and the skies outside of the window were grey with twilight, offering very little light but the bed looked welcoming and he had barely tumbled into it when the fatigue slammed into him, making his entire body feel heavy. He felt Potter gently covering him with warm blankets and click off the light but he could barely open his eyes to watch as the man shushed his son who was asking a question that Draco couldn't piece together and then step towards the door.

It wasn't until he realized he was about to be left alone in the dark did fear override his exhaustion and he called out in a rough voice, suddenly terrified. The dark had been constant and drowning in the cell and he was afraid to be lost to it as soon as he was by himself. Harry was back by the side of the bed almost as once, eyes concerned and questioning and Draco latched onto his wrist, once again forgetting all about pride in the face of his fear.

"Please, don't leave me alone in the dark. Please," he barely even recognized his own voice as he pleaded but the dark haired man was kind, crouching next to the bed so that their faces were level. Understanding shone in the green depths of his eyes and it almost immediately made him feel a little bit better. But he didn't let the man's wrist go and he still shook with terror. The dark was where loneliness lurked and where nightmares dwelt and no matter how much his body ached for it, he knew he would go wild with fear before he ever managed to fall asleep.

"It's okay, Draco," the man soothed before uttering an unfamiliar spell that sent small, winking faerie lights wheeling and glittering in a purple lighted canopy around the bed. They illuminated the room so that all the shadows were efficiently banished and he could see into all of the corners where nothing lurked but empty space or innocent pieces of furniture. The green eyes were kind when he looked at the taller man, "I used to have to do this for myself after the war and Sirius still needs them sometimes. They will follow you should you need to get up for something and they will last through the night. My room is down the hall if you need anything else, okay?" the reassurances were murmured in a calm tone that soothed him without making him feel like he was being treated like a child and he let the man's wrist go, telling himself he could handle being alone as long as it wasn't dark. Harry smiled at him and straightened, leaving behind the sparkling lights to keep Draco safe. Just before the man could leave, however, a question came to the blond and he gave voice to it in a soft tone, not sure if Harry would even hear him.

"How long was I gone?" and he almost feared the answer. The other man paused in the doorway, back stiff and tense but when his answer came, it was unwavering.

"Five years…goodnight, Draco," and then he was gone, closing the door on his way out. The blond lay there, battling his exhaustion for another moment as he tried to digest that. Five years stuck in that dungeon, given just enough to eat so that he wouldn't die but otherwise forgotten about. _Five years…_

When he finally fell asleep, the dreams did not accost him at once like they usually did, and the lights Harry had set for him glowed softly about his bed like a warm net. Though they could do nothing for the seeping darkness still coiled in his soul, he felt warm and safe for the first time in five years…

* * *

Long after night had fallen, well past Sirius's bed time, Harry sat on one of his plush couches feeling and thin, like jam spread out over too much bread. The house felt too quiet once the remaining people returned back to their respective houses, shadows still crowded on their faces brought on by the loss of a brother, son, friend and he found himself straining to hear Percy's calm voice like a gentle undercurrent to Connor's naturally loud bass. But there was nothing save the sound of the television in the parlor from where Sirius was watching cartoons, his small face intent in the flickering of the light from the screen. He sat in with the boy but ignored the images on the screen, instead staring at the far wall with blank disinterest.

The first few nights after Percy and Connor's deaths had been surreal, the quiet nonthreatening because he could easily convince himself it was as if they had gone on a trip and would be back in a few days. But the funeral had given it a finality that made his chest ache and the silence that much more lonely. He knew that he had his son and could Floo either Ron or Hermione if he needed to but he had lost part of his family and he then knew this was what it felt like to have your heart break. Never again would he hear Sirius and Connor laughing together over something silly or Percy talking about work as he prepared them all dinner, filling the house with the fragrant scents of his cooking. Instead of four people occupying the parlor, playing a game, watching the TV (something that had never stopped fascinating Connor who had been raised in a wizarding household) or just enjoying each other's company, there was just two now and the space seemed so big he thought it might swallow him.

Then something struck him as he struggled with the dark well of grief eating away at him; there were three people in the house. He wasn't a replacement for the two that they had lost but he wondered if maybe Malfoy's presence could help keep away some of the bottomless pain. Though he was hurting and probably sick, the blond was here and in need of healing. His gray eyes had held a depth of loneliness that Harry had never seen before and he found himself wanting to erase all traces of it until there was nothing there but happiness. The thought was sudden and alarming but once it had made itself known, he couldn't shake it. He didn't know what would happen or what the future held but he thought that just maybe he could give the other man a home.

Harry was surprised, however, how readily he had accepted the blond and he found himself wondering if it had to do with the compatible colors Sirius was talking about. The question plagued him as he herded the sleepy dark haired boy up to bed, ignoring his halfhearted protests and he could see the darkness swirling in his own eyes as he helped the dark haired boy brush his teeth and then climb into his pajamas. He wanted to ask, wanted to make sure but he didn't know how much of a burden he could put on one five-year-old's shoulders. The green eyes identical to his own were dull with weariness and he took a moment to cuddle the small form as he tucked his son into bed.

"Daddy," the clear voice was a low mumble but Sirius had his eyes opened and watching his father as he sat on the edge of the bed, "I miss them," it was so sad a statement that it made his heart trip and ache fiercely. It hurt to see his son grieving but he knew there was nothing to he could do about it. He wanted to kiss it all away, wanted to it disappear when the green eyes opened in the morning but short of the dead rising again from their graves, he knew the grief would hold onto his son just like it would to Harry for a long time to come. But he still hugged the slender boy close and pressed gentle kisses over his forehead and small, pert nose until the tears spilled over and ran down both of their faces. In that moment, he was never more grateful to have someone like Sirius at his side.

The tears, though, had a way of cleansing and though the loss was still there in his heart, when he lifted his head and let small fingers wipe away the salty tracks on his cheeks while he did the same for the boy, he felt just a little lighter. Then Sirius gave him a tremulous smile with his eyes still shining wetly and wiggled a little under the covers.

"I figured something out today, at the funeral," Harry blinked, wondering for a moment if the boy was talking about Malfoy's appearance but the way he was smiling, peacefully and hinting at withheld excitement, made him realize that couldn't be it, "When you asked me about if I had seen anything like the colors you and Dragon share before, I think I lied," this time he blinked in confusion because Sirius had never lied once in his life.

"What do you mean, you lied, little man? We don't share similar colors?" Sirius gave him one of those looks he reserved for when Harry was being particularly thick and shook his head.

"No, I mean I think I've seen it, or felt it before. With me," this time he sat back in shock and stared at the dark haired boy, knowing very well that his mouth was hanging open but not really caring. As far as he knew, Sirius couldn't see the colors around himself, just other people so he didn't quite understand how the boy could know something like that. Then he looked away, plucking at his blanket as if he had done something wrong but he continued talking anyway, "The colors…they can be really pretty, like yours and Dragon's but…Cousin Teddy's…they feel…right…" he tapered off, looking up at his father from under the mop of his curls and Harry wondered if he looked as white as he felt. The very thought of his five year old son being already connected with someone in the way only soul mates were made him feel like there was a lance piercing his chest, making it difficult to breathe. The only thing that made it better was that he loved Teddy nearly as much as he loved Sirius and if he thought about it rationally, it nearly made sense. The two boys were inseparable when they were together. He just didn't realize that it might have been because of something more than friendship. Of course, they were only still children but one day they wouldn't be. Harry took a deep breath and reached out to run his fingers through his son's curls.

"Why are you telling me this now?" he asked quietly and was shocked when Sirius bit his lip and looked away again, his slender shoulders shivering as if he was cold. When he saw the tears welling up in the green gaze again though he realized it was something else.

"I just…I wanted you to know that I won't be alone. If you…if you follow Uncle Bird and Uncle Bear…" he hiccupped then sobbed softly and Harry's heart constricted. The boy was afraid that he would lose everyone, including his father. The dark haired wizard lay down beside his son and wrapped him in his arms, holding him close as tears soaked the front of his shirt and tried to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat.

"I'm not going anywhere, love. Nothing is going to happen to me. I'm going to stay by your side until I'm old and you're sick of me because I could never leave you," and he prayed desperately in his heart that his words were proven to be the truth because he didn't want his son to lose even more. He wanted to see the boy grow up, go to school, fall in love and become the person he was meant to be and he couldn't do that if he was dead. Harry lay there on the bed with the boy with those wishes burning like bright beacons in his soul until Sirius had fallen asleep and watched the dreams flickering behind gently closed eyelids.

Though how the boy had come to him was unfortunate and he wished that Sirius could have had a good mother, the mother Ginny was supposed to have been, he had never loved anyone so intensely in his life and he would never wish that things had happened differently. The house might be quiet and nearly empty now but he knew was not alone.

Sometimes, however, his heart didn't listen to his brain because despite Sirius curled in his arms, the bitter bite of aching loneliness continued to eat away at his heart…

* * *

It was the middle of the night when Harry was awakened again by someone slipping quietly into his bedroom. He had left Sirius's room long after midnight, having watched the boy sleep and taking comfort in his small, warm presence so he was still tired when familiar purple lights tumbled into his room, banishing every last shadow from their corners. Being a light sleeper, he was awake as soon as the door was pushed open and for a moment he thought it was his son, frightened by a nightmare.

A second later he caught his breath and sat up, staring at the blond leaning against his doorway, looking terrified and lost amid the dancing faerie lights that surrounded him. They stared at each other for a long moment, the silence of the house nearly solid and then Malfoy looked down at his feet and shuffled them, something the proud boy he had once been would never have done.

"I…I'm sorry to wake you but…" he hunched his skinny shoulders a bit and tilted his chin towards his chest as if he was pained by what he was about to say, "Would you mind if…if I stayed in here?" his voice was almost too quiet but Harry heard them anyway and he had to blink a few times in shock, something he realized he had done entirely too much that day. He thought about refusing but the man just looked so dejected that he swallowed the words that would send Malfoy back to the other room. How could he refuse when the gray eyes were so dark they looked opaque and when he really wanted nothing more than to drag the man into his embrace and never let him go? He wanted to protect him and chase away all of his fears; he didn't understand it but it was there and he wouldn't push it away. So he shuffled towards the right side of the bed and folded back the blankets, a clear invitation for Malfoy to join him. It was a big bed, anyway, and he had always felt like it sometimes wanted to drown him with its size.

The blond must have thought that Harry would refuse because he took in a huge gulp of air and his eyes went so wide, they looked ready to fall out of his head but then he walked forwards, looking uncertain and hopeful all at once. Harry watched quietly as the blond slipped under the covers and laid back, pale head resting on the pillow while his gray eyes watched the dark haired wizard closely. Around them danced the purple canopy of lights.

"Thank you," Malfoy finally whispered and his lips curled upwards in a small smile. Harry looked at him for a second longer before laying down himself and reached out to clasp one frightfully thin hand in his own. The blond blinked then looked at their joined hands in surprise and the dark haired man squeezed his fingers gently.

"You're welcome," That night, neither of them had any nightmares and for once, the ever-lingering loneliness had disappeared…

* * *

The sound of the front door opening on the first floor jarred him awake and he lay there for a moment as he listened to the person who had just entered his flat moved around. Then he scrubbed his hands over his face, trying to rid himself of the rest of his sleep and slipped from the bed. The confrontation at Harry's still lingered in his mind, dragging at his limbs like lead weights. On one hand, he agreed with the dark haired man, that helping Malfoy was the right thing to do but he had lost a brother to the man's father and nearly lost another to something Malfoy himself had done so his sympathy was tempered with anger. Even so, he wished he could have given more of his support to Harry. The man had been very close to Percy and was now virtually alone in that big house of his, left to raise his son by himself with yet another burden shoved upon him. Though Charlie spent much of his time away, working with the dragons, he wondered if maybe he should have offered to take one of the many empty rooms. Had it not been for Kingsley, he might have.

He knew his lover was concerned for Harry and Sirius's wellbeing but he thought too much like an Auror for his own good. That was probably what happened when it is one's occupation for nearly ten years but sometimes he wished the man could be a little more sensitive. Not that he didn't love him, of course, because he did. Still…

He had been planning on informing Kingsley that he would be going back to help Harry out for as long as he was in town but before he could, the older man had gotten a call nearly as soon as they had arrived home and he hadn't had the chance. He didn't want to start an argument but he did think that there was a time and a place for everything and to start demanding to question a man who had been missing for five years and looking like he had been locked in a cellar with nothing to eat about a murder case had been insensitive to the extreme. He had wanted to tell the older man to be quiet before he had even gotten started but he couldn't bring himself to openly dispute him. There had been so many times when Kingsley had supported him when he didn't want to that Charlie felt he should at least keep quiet in front of other people. Now, though, he itched to voice his thoughts. It was probably well after two in the morning now, though and he supposed he could save it for later. Besides, Kingsley would probably be unwilling to speak very much and would undoubtedly be exhausted.

Charlie sighed as he pulled on a pair of sleep trousers and slipped downstairs, wishing things weren't such a mess, that none of this had ever happened, that Percy was still alive.

When he stepped into the bright kitchen, though, blinking through the sharp light and caught sight of his lover's face, he knew at once something had happened. He took a deep breath and stepped into the room, making sure the other man heard him and sure enough, his lover turned to look at him, his dark eyes looking shadowed and haunted. The older man was only in his early thirties, one of the youngest wizards to ever make Head Auror but no one would ever dare say he didn't deserve it. The man was one of the hardest working, most determined people Charlie had ever met and it was one of the reasons why they had even gotten together. And while it seemed like their relationship couldn't work, with the older man nearly always in the office and Charlie away half the year with his dragons, the times apart made the moments they did have together that much more special. Now, though, he could see whatever it was Kingsley had been called away for swirling like dark mist in his gaze and the red head immediately crossed the space separating them to wrap his arms around the taller man's waist.

"What happened?" he whispered, holding on tight and waited until the strong arms curled around his shoulders before titling his head back to see the Auror's face. The full lips were pulled in a frown, causing lines to appear around their edges and the handsome face was troubled and weary.

"We found the Malfoys," he said, his deep voice gruff and Charlie tensed, swirling emotion rising up within him until it nearly choked him. Despite his pity for the Malfoy boy, his dislike for the blonde's parents had only been anchored and aggravated by the death of his brother. Whether it had been Malfoy Sr. who had killed Percy or not, his name was still tied up within it and he doubted anything could fix that. Or, at least that was what he thought, "They have been living in France since the end of the war. They…" the older man cut off and his frown deepened before he pulled away and began to pace. Charlie held his breath as he waited for his lover to continue but Kingsley had gone quiet, caught within his thoughts.

"They, what?" he finally prompted and didn't like the worried shadows flickering across the older man's features. When Kingsley spoke again, Charlie went blank with shock.

"Whoever it was that killed Percy, it was not Lucius Malfoy. The real one died more than four months ago,"

_**...To be continued

* * *

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Yay for cliffies! MUUUHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!_**  
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